


Bound

by ferggirl



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferggirl/pseuds/ferggirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s been tied to a chair before. </p>
<p>Hell, he’s been tied to other people before. It’s part of the job. You learn your knots, carry a razorblade up your sleeve, tense your wrists and carry on. </p>
<p>But Grant Ward has no idea how to proceed here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Present

He’s been tied to a chair before. 

Hell, he’s been tied to other people before. It’s part of the job. You learn your knots, carry a razorblade up your sleeve, tense your wrists and carry on. 

But Grant Ward has no idea how to proceed here.

"Do you think they’ll come back?" Jemma whispers, her chin resting on his shoulder. 

He sighs and looks down her back, to where she’s got her legs threaded through the arms of the chair. Her ankles are bound, holding her in place on his lap. 

Her wrists are bound too, with her arms around his chest, leaving her rather awkwardly hugging him. 

It would feel nice if they weren’t stuck that way.

"They’d better," he says dryly. "I think you’re getting a bit too comfortable there, Simmons."

As it is, his own hands are tied to the chair’s arms. Same with his legs. It would be easy enough to break the chair and slip out of the ropes that way. 

Except he’d hurt her. 

And that’s something Grant just can’t do.

"Oh, shut up," she mutters. "And maybe lean forward a touch so I can get a bit of space to work on my hands?"

He obliges, but it brings the rest of his torso flush with hers. He does his best to ignore the little steadying breath she takes, and orders himself to focus on anything but the way her hair is tickling his neck and the warmth of her body is seeping through his clothing.

The third time she wiggles in frustration, though, he can’t stay quiet.

"Can you just hold still?" he growls, running through flight manual checklists in his head in a desperate grab for control. 

"I’ve almost got it - oh dammit," she sags into him. "All that damn surgical training and I’m defeated by a knot."

"So we go to plan B," he says.

"Breaking the chair into pieces?" he can hear the smirk in her voice. "I’m sure you already know this, but our current positions means the likelihood of a broken limb is about 78 percent."

"Of course I know that," his voice is a bit gruff, so he clears his throat. It’s just that she’s so warm, and soft, and fits so nicely into him. "That’s why breaking the chair is plan F."

"Oh, we’ve got four other plans before we break bones, then?" Her head pops up, colliding hard with his ear.

"Oh, I’m sorry." "You ok?"

They turn to look at each other at the same time. She’s sitting on his lap, putting her head about equal with his. Her lips are right there. He closes his eyes, trying to remind himself of all the reasons this is a terrible idea.

"You know we could just-" her voice has gone all breathy, and he feels a surge of answering eagerness in the pounding of his heart.

"But wasn’t that the whole point?" he asks, his eyes sliding back open to find hers have gone soft and dark. "I thought, uh, we were making a point."

He’s not sure he still wants to, dammit.

"Mmm," she agrees, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. "The point. Right. I do think they overreacted just a tad."

"…overreacted. Yeah." He’s losing the thread of the conversation. 

She glances over his shoulder, and his eyes slide down the column of her neck. 

"We only have 45 minutes to wait them out," she says. Their eyes lock. "We can - we can make it 45 minutes, right?"

There’s a moment of heavy silence, and then he says, “Fuck the dare. I’ll do the damn laundry.”

His mouth on hers is the best idea of the day. He’ll deal with Fitz and Skye later. 


	2. Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did they get in that chair? Well it was game night...

"Well this is just stupid," Jemma says, for the fourth time. 

"Hey, he took the dare, you agreed to participate," Skye says with no mercy. "Up and at em, sister."

"I’m sincerely regretting introducing game night," Ward mutters, testing the knots on his hands and feet and finding them surprisingly secure. "And when did you learn to tie a knot, Fitz?"

"Oh, you know, us Scots do outdoorsy things sometimes," he says with a bland smile. "Enough stalling, Jemma. Up!"

She looks between them, over to May’s amused smirk, and silently thanks anyone who’s listening that Coulson is away tonight with meetings. 

Then she clambers onto Ward’s lap. 

"Ow, Simmons, watch your knee," he winces. He’s not looking at her, but glaring at Skye. There’s some sort of contest happening, and for once, he appears to be losing. 

"I’m sorry," Jemma says, hurriedly tucking her legs through the chair’s arms and letting her bottom rest basically on his knees. "Happy, Fitz?"

She’s going to kill Fitz. He  _knows_  how bad her crush on Ward is. How could he put her in this situation? 

But Ward’s desperate to win a game, and he’s tied for first with Skye right now, and all they have to do is last an hour without “making out.” 

He’d given her a desperate look.

So she’d said yes. 

She can last an hour. They’ll be out of the ropes in minutes, surely, and then they just have to sit in a room and… not kiss. 

They do that all the time.

"Jemma!" Fitz waves a hand in front of her face, and she flushes as all eyes turn back to her. "You have to scoot forward so we can tie you in."

Her gaze drops to Ward’s lap - then  _quickly_  jumps back up to his exasperated face. The man is absolutely, positively made of steel. Except, it's the soft kind, that reacts when you sit on it and isn’t that uncomfortable and - oh they’re waiting for her to talk. 

"Scoot forward?" she whispers. "Really?"

"Oh my god, you two are such babies," Skye laughs. She comes up behind Jemma and pushes on her back.  

"Skye!" With a squeak, Jemma brings her hands to Ward’s broad shoulders, preventing Skye from smashing them together. 

"There we go!" Fitz grins and drops down to tie her feet together. Skye pokes Ward and motions him to lean forward.

"Don’t you think you’re all getting a little to enthusiastic about this?" he groans as he complies. His breath ruffles her hair and she’s talking herself through the periodic table to concentrate and she has to stay  _how long_  sitting like this?

"Hey, super spy, super dares," Skye counters.

She takes Jemma’s hands and pulls them around his ribs, wrapping the last cord securely so that she’s basically giving the man who occasionally (okay semi-regularly) shows up in her sex dreams a giant bear hug. That she cannot escape. 

_Wonderful._

"Ok, we’re starting the hour…" Skye punches something into her tablet, looking quite pleased with herself, "…NOW."

Fitz gives Jemma an unhelpful wink and wave on his way out the door. 

May hesitates for a minute before she shakes her head and reaches for the lights, plunging the room into semi-darkness. 

"Good luck, kids," she says with a smile in her voice.

Then she’s gone, and they’re alone. 


End file.
